Chapter 171: Map of the Dead [2]
Silence settled.
They all felt the shape of it now. It was not a clean push, neither was it a glorious battle. It was a desperate plan and if any part of it broke, they would undoubtedly die a horrible death.
Mira opened her satchel and took stock. "I’m rationing," she said. "No full seals on anything that isn’t a mortal wound. If you bleed, you keep moving."
"I have to keep my energy for when it truly matters".
"Copy," Harrick said.
The others also nodded in understanding.
Kaelin rocked on his heels. "I get the shadows; I’ll mark safe holes with ash ticks. If you feel grit under your palm in a crawl, that’s me".
"Veyra?" Clayton asked.
"I won’t be able to do much, but I need windows to distract in case we’re seen," she said. "Ten seconds, then I move. Thirty seconds if a Prime looks up. I can’t deal damage to them, but I’m confident that I can distract them".
Clayton nodded. "Good. Everyone understands their role, so we start now".
"I’ll post Seedpike two at the chute, and Seedpike three at the back of the skull. If a Prime turns toward us, we freeze. If a Warden catches our scent, we reverse. Do not run blind, we move like smoke."
With that, they moved.
They went down the left of the ridge in a single file.
There was no chatter and no bright flares as Torren smothered his fire to a simmer. Soren sheathed the Emberblade to keep it dark, while Veyra carried her bow unstrung and her arrows in a wrap.
Kaelin slipped ahead as the scout, while Harrick kept rear guard. Mira’s roots brushed against ankles and wrists as she did quick checks for stress and strain.
A few minutes later, they reached the chute.
It was worse up close. The rock was a gullet, and the walls pressed, but like Clayton thought, a man could pass.
A Verdant Warden Behemorph though would scrape and grind, yet still not pass.
"Seedpike two," Clayton whispered.
He sank it quick, as slow roots emerged, but it didn’t bloom.
Before they continued, they listened.
On the plain below, a Thorn Crown Behemorph slammed something into the ground until it stopped moving, snuffing its life immediately. The second blow was for nothing but mood.
It sniffed, lifted its head, and then turned away.
The air eased for a heartbeat, but then the ground trembled again with heavier steps, far off and steady. The Prime was on its loop.
Kaelin flashed a sign. ’Wait!’
They waited as he counted... ten, twenty, thirty... and then the heavy steps faded. He flashed ’Go’ and vanished into the chute.
They slipped through.
The stone scraped their shoulders and hips as they moved but no one complained. Clayton held his breath when his bark grazed rock, yet even that small rasp felt loud. A minute later, they came out behind a lip of broken plates.
The field changed at once.
Here, the ground sank into a bowl of crushed trunks and rust. The lingering smell of sap, oil, and meat hit hard in the air.
Every predator in the belt came here to feed, evident by the old bones that lay in layers. The air buzzed with insects that didn’t care who had died as long as there was something to eat.
Veyra touched Clayton’s elbow and pointed. "A perch," she whispered.
He saw it, a tilted span of machine ribs leaned over the basin, wide enough for two to crawl along. From there, she could cut lanes and distract.
But if a Prime looked up, the perch would be a coffin.
"Not yet," Clayton whispered. "There’s no chaos yet. When noise is everywhere, you climb."
They crossed the basin’s rim at a crouch.
Every step of the way was measured, and every pause had a reason. Twice they stopped as a pack of Thorn Hounds trotted past, three times they hid as a Warden sniffed and pawed at the bones.
One of the Behemorphs cracked open a carcass like a nut and drank the black blood still inside. None of them looked at them, they couldn’t see them, they were too small and that was their shield.
At the far side of the basin, the half-buried skull waited. It had once been a walking engine, now it was a hill with teeth.
Kaelin slid down first, tested the jawline, and slid under. "Hollow," he whispered from the dark. "Crawlspace goes all the way through. It’s narrow and smells old; nothing lives inside."
"Seedpike three," Clayton said softly.
He placed it under the jaw.
Then, they crawled.
The smell stuck in their throats; the skull’s inner walls were slick with old oils and dried sap layers like varnish.
Eventually, they came out the back into a silt bed that shifted under their boots. The temple looked closer now, and the ring’s shimmer was stronger.
It stung their eyes.
"Tier two down," Soren murmured.
"Don’t jinx it," Kaelin said.
At that moment, a sound rolled across the bowl. Not a howl, not a roar either. This was flat and heavy. It was a bell struck in meat, a sound that shook dust from ribs and sent the scavengers into the cracks.
The Thorn Crown Warden on the right had lifted its head.
"...!"
It sniffed, it turned, and then it began to move... not toward them, but toward the basin.
’Phew’. Clayton breathed out in relief.
Another Warden answered from the left with a grinding scrape, and a third thumped the ground in reply.
Clayton watched their angles; he didn’t breathe until he understood. "Two of them want the same carcass," he said. "Good, let them argue and fight".
Veyra looked at him. "You’re thinking of lighting the fuse now?"
"Not yet," Clayton said. "We need the Prime."
He pointed toward a low ridge on the far left.
The Prime’s route cut behind it, then rolled through the basin’s north lip. If a fight exploded at the right second, the Prime Synchron Behemorph would swing in to end it so it could continue its nap.
That was its pattern, it killed whatever disturbed it without caring for identity.
"So we feed the field to itself," Torren said, a grim smile touching his mouth.
"Yes," Clayton said. "We start with the Thorn Crown Warden. We make it furious and noisy. We make Veyra’s arrows look like a rival’s quills, and we time the detonation with Torren’s collapse seam".
"That will draw the second Warden".
"While they clash, Kaelin trips the scavenger packs". He looked at the others. "Soren, you’ll block a lane. Harrick, pin a flank with throws while I drop a root wall between us and the basin to cut our scent."
"And when the Prime comes?" Mira asked.
"We’ll be gone by then," Clayton said. "We’ll be in the shadow of the next ridge, moving to the ring."
Kaelin squinted at the route, her mouth twisting. "It’s insane."
"It’s our chance," Clayton said, and they set to work.
Each of them performed their role under his orders to perfection.
Clayton walked the circle as he felt the Seedpikes hum to the same slow beat, then he pressed his palm to the ground and stirred his Aspect power.
Then, they waited.
Night crept, but the field did not sleep.
Wardens kept on hunting at dusk, and even the Primes preferred the late watch. The temple’s shimmer brightened as true light faded, now a cold lantern that acted as a beacon of light in the darkness.
They climbed to a low vantage point, close enough to see teeth but far enough to have three exits.
Clayton raised his hand.
"Listen," he said. "One more time. If anything, and I mean anything feels wrong, we abort immediately. We flee to Seedpike two, and we wait. We can always try again. We are not heroes, we are thieves."
Torren rolled his neck. "All you have to do is say when"
The others also looked at him, waiting for him to give the signal to move.
Clayton looked at the field where the Thorn Crown Warden lowered its head to claim the basin’s center. The rival Warden circled, annoyed, its hard steps coming faster now. While in the distance, the Prime’s footfalls lined up with the ridge seam like a countdown.
He lifted his hand, fingers splayed.
"On three," he said softly. "Do your jobs".
Without looking at them, he reminded. "Veyra, let your arrows sing. Torren, let your fire hum. Kaelin, rattle the cages. Harrick, trip the knee. Soren, hold the gap, and Mira, be our anchor and breathe for all of us."
He drew in air as the temple’s ring pulsed like a heartbeat across the plain. He could feel the tension now, then...
"One," Clayton said.
He felt the field lean.
"Two."
The Prime’s stride hit the mark.
"Three!"
WHOOSH!
Veyra’s first arrow whispered like a Thorn Crown and bit the Warden’s cheek, and the basin woke.
The basin woke, and all hell broke loose!